


The Best Part.

by orphan_account



Series: Loving me is the worst thing you'll ever do. [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Crush, Choking, Crowley Being an Asshole, Dancing, Dean's an asshole, Demon Dean Winchester, F/M, Fluff, Guardian Angels, Kelly Clarkson - Freeform, Kissing, Panties, Smut, Teenagers in bars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 10:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3606996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second part in the series. Dean and Metta's relationship wasn't all bad, really. Here are all of their best parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wrapping Around

Dean Winchester was quite the physical specimen. Leaning against the bar, all muscle and a dark aura that made her insides shake. This was the man she was made to protect, even going as far to be cast out of Heaven. And here he was: a Knight of Hell road tripping with the King of Hell. To be honest, she didn't expect it. 

At that moment she hated herself, probably looking like an ugly duckling even in the same room as Dean Winchester. Metta did have the awkward body of a 15 year old, and she fidgeted with her cap, pulling the bottle of alcohol closer. 

It was in this moment of insecurity that he looked over, eyes a lush green, holding a malice despite the cheery color. After speaking a few words to Crowley, Dean grabbed his beer and sauntered over, swagger prominent in his gait. 

"Well, hello there. Names Dean. What's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this." He flirted, shooting her a cocky grin that made a fan of lines appear in the outer corners of his brilliant eyes. 

A blush lit her freckled cheeks, a hand going to cover her mouth. The ex-Archangel had always been very shy, and at the moment all she could do was blush and stare down at the table with a embarrassed little smile.

"Talking ain't your thing is it, sweetheart?" His drawl practically turned her into a puddle on the cheap faux leather of the stool. "It's all good, I like the shy, beautiful types." He said, grinning again, wolfish in intention as the older man reached across and placed a soft hand on her thigh, which was bouncing under the table. 

Metta blushed harder, if at all possible, and pushed her glasses up her nose a bit. She wasn't really accustomed to being hit on by men for whom she had basically done everything, so her flirting game wasn't even close to par. She watched as he slid into the stool across the small, circular table, ordering another round and then turning her way, smirking. 

She could see his demonic face, still relatively noticeable and quite handsome, even if twisted by the evil of his new knighthood.

"So are gonna tell me your name, or are you gonna keep tryin'a count my freckles?" Dean smirked, soft pink lips pulling back to reveal white, almost predatory teeth. 

She debated in her mind for a split second, but she couldn't leave without him knowing at least one person was there for him to depend on. "Metta...I'm Metta." 

"Gotta last name?" He asked, raising those perfect eyebrows and sipping his beer. His lips were now officially pink pillows she decided as she shook her head, not able to think of one of the many she had had over the millennia. 

                      --------

Crowley knew something wasn't right, could sense it as they walked into the old, foul smelling dive bar. His new bestie kept looking at this girl in the corner, not really Dean's  type. Bony and pale, with black-lined cloudy grey eyes and freckles smattering across her high cheekbones and the visible parts of her shoulders. Tattoos peaked out from behind clothes, curls of black ink in stark contrast with her skin and the light colored sweater she was wearing. 

With a gruff murmur of, "Don't wait up." Dean had made his way over to the strange girl, obviously flirting with her if the blush was any indication. The girl managed to pull her gaze away from Dean to meet Crowley's. Her large grey eyes blinked twice before flicking back to the charming man trying to win her affections. 

As the minutes continued, she began to look more and more familiar, with that offish feeling growing in his chest. It all clicked when she slid off the stool, Dean holding her hand and pulling her onto the dance floor, turning to face away from the King sitting at the table. Two jagged scars paralleled themselves, separated by the prominent column of her spine. 

He had once known an angel like that, an angel thrown from Heaven for no reason that anyone could decipher, forced to wander around aimlessly. But more importantly, it was Dean Winchester's guardian angel. Crowley's eyebrows elevated as he turned to look at the two, hesitant to intervene. Dean hated whenever the King of Hell would ruin his chances to take a girl home, and even then wouldn't understand the dangers of their contact at all. 

Sighing gruffly, he took another sip of his beer and shook his head, watching as Dean grabbed her tentative hands, swaying them to the twangy country pouring out the of the clunky jukebox in the corner. Hoping that Dean didn't know the kind of danger he was getting himself into.  

                 --------------

She can't really dance, too bony and awkward to seem graceful, but Dean suggested it, coercing her onto the makeshift floor, putting her hands in his much larger ones. 

The music was awful, some cheesy thing about dirt roads and beer, like most country music, but she enjoyed his presence. Leading her around the tiny dance floor, no one in particular looking at the two, except some cougars at a back table, grumbling and glaring at her, envious that she had reeled in such a catch.

He spun her once, warm hand catching her by the middle of her back, fingers spread so that his pinkie rested in the dimples of her lower back. He chuckled a bit, shaking his head. "At this rate we'll be the next Morticia and Gomez." 

She laughed at that too, giving a sarcastic shoulder shake that made him smirk again.

After a song of endearing shuffling and spinning, a slower song came  on, some Kelly Clarkson knock off strumming a guitar and complaining about the human concept of love. 

Dean's hands settled low on her waist, most of his calloused palm rested on her sharp hips, sending a flood of warm feelings out from her chest to her toes. She shook her head at her own foolishness, blushing and avoiding his intense gaze.  The pair swayed across the cheap flooring as she zoned out, thinking of what exactly she was hoping to achieve with this little venture into Dean Winchester's life.

Meanwhile, Dean looked down at her, smirking as he watched her work out the kinks in whatever ideological flaw was gnawing at her. She was very pretty, he thought to himself. Not in the conventional sense, the tan skin and large breasts of his usual hook ups. More like someone would look at an endangered animal, rare and exotic, not meant to be in such a plain situation. She seemed older than she let on, eyes too worn to belong to someone so young. Her body was the antithesis of age, frail and young, probably young enough to be his daughter, a teenager in a world where they don't make it very far. 

The song ended as he guided her over to the rough oak bar, with bottles lining a mirrored wall. Indulging in vanity, she checked her reflection, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear and adjusting her sleeve to cover the corner of a tattoo. 

"Poison of choice?" He asked, casting a side glance at her. 

"Whiskey, neat." She said back plainly, sitting on a stool, shoulders relaxed but pulled in, her anxious nature affecting her posture. 

"'Atta girl," He mumbled, parroting her order to the bartender as well as one for himself. Turning to her again, she felt his predatory eyes devouring  her as she leaned against the bar, elbows on the hard wood and head resting on her fists. Her lithe legs were covered in tight black leggings to protect herself from the blasting air conditioning and a loose sweater that made her seem willowy, her small breasts barely visible under the fabric. 

Metta thought he was trying to burn holes in the garment with the intensity he was staring at it. His train of thought was derailed when the two shots were set down in front of them. With a practiced efficiency, he downed the small amount of alcohol, sucking his teeth and sighing a breathe out, turning to her expectantly. Tipping her head back the bitter liquor burned itself down her throat, warming her in the artificially chilled room. 

"Didn't even flinch, I knew you were more than just a pretty face." Dean chuckled, nonchalantly placing his hand on the back seat of her seat, thumb brushing her back. The motion made the muscles of her back ripple under his touch, not used to the delicate and sensitive scars being touched. 

The taller man let his gaze wander for a couple of seconds, until a motion drew his eyes over to Crowley, tapping his watch and glaring at them. With a sigh, he turned back to Metta, giving her one more look, undressing her with his eyes, he stood. 

This got her attention, causing her to turn in her stool, toes perched on the foot rest, cloudy eyes looking up at him expectantly. Dean reached in his pocket before pressing something into her hand, grinning. 

"The motel just down the block, room 6, find me." He said plainly, leaning down to press an intense, but fleeting kiss onto her lips and saunter out, just like he did when he first approached her not half an hour ago. 

Opening her manicured fingers revealed a key, but not just any key, a room key. Dean's room key. She was going to faint...He hadn't just given her his room key. She internalized her fangirling, walking calmly back to her table and drinking her beer again, watching as Crowley grumbled, following the Knight out of the grimy place. 

Maybe she had made the right choice to introduce herself. Anna had told her first hand how good Dean Winchester could be. Smirking to herself, she gripped the key tighter, the sharp points and edges digging into her hand. This was going to be one hell of an adventure. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not lying and saying that there is smut, just not in this chapter. Be paitent, my pretties, and want you desire shall be what you have.


	2. Do you believe in Miracles?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Metta's sexy, funny, violent and utterly perfect first sexual encounter.

His lips pulled a soft sigh out of her, as she gripped at his shoulder. He was everywhere, chest pushing her against the wall, hands- large and firm- massaging the backs of her thighs as he held her up.

Her delicate fingers were tangled in his hair, head tilted back to expose her ravaged neck which had been previously smooth, creamy white skin. Dean enjoyed her little whimper as his teeth worried the apex of her neck and shoulder, the tips of his fingers teasing at the inside seams of her jeans. 

Grey eyes, already dark with arousal, could barely focus on him sent him cloudy gazes as his talented lips moved to her jutting collarbone. "Dean..." She managed to whisper, pulling him back and cradling his face. "Y-You know I'm not..." The angel trailed off, blushing and looking down at the barely there space between their bodies. 

"Legal, yeah I know, your meatsuit is a little young, but  _you_ aren't." He smirked, planting a hand flat against the wall next to her head, bringing his knee between her legs to keep her up. "I knew you were an angel from the minute I saw you...But they don't talk about you in the big book do they?" 

"I don't know...haven't read it yet." She shot back, making it all too obvious he had hit a soft spot. 

"Name?" Dean asked, pressing closer, their lips almost touching.

"But fair Romeo, what's in a name?" 

He gave a small, dark chuckle, pulling her into an intense kiss, spinning the smaller teen and tossing her on the bed like a sack of flour. The girl yelped as the mattress shrieked under the sudden addition of weight.  The older man loomed over her, arrogant and aroused, all manner of hot, if she was honest with herself. 

"Did you seek me out or do you believe in miracles?" Dean asked, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring down at the prone girl, his eyes flicking to black as an obvious scare tactic. It did make her gulp and rethink her decision, but she shook her head, ponytail holder finally giving out of unfurling her Rapunzel-like hair, long and dark and glossy in the light of the motel sign through the slats of the blinds. 

"Sought you out...been following you for a while now." Metta confirmed, shrugging her shoulders in a non-committal fashion.  It wasn't a lie, the angel had been on his tail for about six months, but she survived World War I relatively unscathed, and it wasn't easy. The members of the garrison not fighting like animals were tracking her, Micheal figuring in the chaos they could knock her off without drawing too much attention. She could sneak under the Winchester radar for a measly 6 months. 

"So you know about the whole 'I'm a dangerous Knight, kill me for a bounty' thing? 'Cuz I assure you there is going to be a problem." He said almost sarcastically, pulling the Blade from under his jacket. Her eyes widened, crawling up a little further on the stained mattress. 

"N-No! The exact opposite, actually. I'm kinda in charge of your personal health and spiritual well being..." She trailed off, looking ashamed and guilty. 

"What? What the  _fuck_ does that mean?" He asked angrily and he had a right to be, nostrils flaring as his gaze flicked to a molten black. 

"I'm your guardian angel! Hi, I've done the shittest job ever in the history of the universe but please don't kill me! I want to tag along." She said quickly, holding her hands out, skinny fingers spread wide to stop him if he came forward. 

"I don't have a guardian angel...and if I did it would be Cas, not some scrawny, punk ass looking bitch. Seriously sweetheart, get a better vessel if you want to protect anyone." Dean snarled, hackles raised and looking threatened. 

"Cas...Castiel? He...Oh yeah, I made him promise me to take care of you and your brother, you know, I posed as my ass of a father to convince the garrison to save you in the first place! I've done everything I can to protect you. And this isn't a vessel you dildo, I'm stuck in this body, had since big bro sliced off my wings and threw me down to this shitty rock!" Metta's voice increased as she rose, standing with about a yard between them, face flushed in shame and guilt and regret, but anger breached the mask, her cloud grey eyes darkening to thunderheads as she stared at the hideous demonic face underneath Dean's beautiful human one. 

"Well boo hoo, Princess! None of that is my fault." He growled, stepping forward with the Blade. 

Her own blade slid from out of her sleeve and she held it tentatively towards him. "I never said it was your fault, I just want to tag along. I couldn't care less if you were demon, as long as you're safe." The angel said calmly, one hand holding the cool metal, the other reached out to him, palm flat, almost touching his chest. 

His eyes, now back to green, scanned over her face, eyebrows furrowing in concentration and glaring her down. The next thing Dean did was too quick, sheathing his blade back in his jacket, and forcing her own blade out of her hand by practically crushing her bony wrist, Metta unable to react in time. Next he pulled her into a bruising kiss, the angel blade thumping dully onto the oddly stained motel carpet. 

Their teeth clacked as she pulled him down, mattress making an even more shrill noise and the air pushed out of her lungs. He bit her lip, pulling back and making her growl lightly, nipping back and pushing him off, straddling his hips. 

"Come on, what are you gonna do? Let me down to death?" He mocked, pulling her back on his obviously tented pants.  

Metta was about to scream in frustration and guilt, her eyes watering as she clawed him out of his shirt and jacket, growling like a wild animal. The demon smirked egging her on with muttered petnames and insults mixed into one, prying her own of her shirt and bra and flipping her onto her back. 

Dean settled his hips between her legs, hissing at the sting of her nails raking down his forearms. "Come on Princess...I know you can do more..." He whispered gruffly, pressing his hips closer and roughly palming her breasts. 

Baring her pearly white teeth she placed an open palm on the right side of his ribs, just below his nipple. Her grace flashed quickly, placing a topical burn that had him groaning in pain and a sick pleasure. "That what you want? Huh? Punishment for everything you've done as a demon? A  _monster_?" She emphasized with a grind of her hips against him, gritting her teeth. 

He seethed and flipped them yet again, the constant movement making them dizzy. The air pushed out of the angel's lungs as Dean ravaged her already marred neck with bites that drew blood to the surface he wouldn't even bother lapping up.

"Fuck! Ah..." The angel cussed through barred teeth, using brute force to rip off his belt buckle, growling. "You have no idea...What I've done for you...You selfish prick..." She panted as he palmed her breasts, squeezing too hard and bruising the inked flesh. 

"My life has been nothing but shit so far, and I don't see how you in close quarters is going to change that." Dean replied before closing his mouth around a nipple, trying to break her now heightened defenses. Metta squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push out the sensation she would be more than happy to welcome under any other circumstance. 

"Just let me stay dammit!" The angel seethed, scratching at his scalp as he bit down on her nipple, almost making her scream as she tugged too hard on his hair, her lithe body arching unnaturally as a groan rumbled her throat.

"Maybe if you behave..." He tried before getting slapped clear across the face, looking up at her in angry shock. 

"You finish that sentence I will have Sam Winchester and half of Heaven on your ass do you understand me?"

She seethed, all arousal fleeing her body. "I'm not going to be your little bitch in the bedroom. Whatever we do will be fair and so unhealthy it could rot your pearl whites unless I tell you otherwise."  The angel said, flipping them so she could scrape her ragged, bitten nails down his sculpted chest. 

"Whatever to get in your pants sweetheart." Dean chuckled breathy, thick fingers deftly undoing her jeans and letting her lift her hips to shimmy them down her thighs. He chuckled again when he saw her panties, that matched the bra he hadn't paid much attention to earlier. There was thick black lace at her hips, the two strips of fabric going down her thighs accenting the dark grey cotton with the small black bow in the middle of the top hem. 

"You like 'em?" She purred, shimmying again to get out of her pants, smirking down at the Knight beneath her. Metta knew what she was doing, so practiced in the art of sex, and did a graceful kick and roll, ending up pants less and hovering over his tented jeans. It took few seconds to pop the fly and lower the zip, Dean's hands going to press her down before she batted him away.

"If I had known you were this bossy I would've bought you the drink before taking you dancing." Dean smirked cockily, folding his arms  behind his head and lifting his hips to entice her as she slid his pants all the way off. 

The angel pointedly ignored the comment as her tongue came out to trace the seam of his hard cock while pushing his hips back to the bed. Dean groaned softly under his breathe, trying to buck up, but her surprising firm grip kept him down. She repeated the action over and over until the front of his green boxer briefs were soaked in precum and spit. 

With a suck, she pulled away, petal pink lips pulled into a smirk as she helped him out of the garment. Metta's eyes followed as his cock slapped back against his stomach, looking an angry shade of red. Of course Dean tried to persuade her, pushing his hips up without her hands on him anymore. Then he tangled his fingers into her exorbitant amount of hair, tugging the teenager forward. That worked, drawing a pleased whimper and springing her into action. 

His eyes fluttered shut as she bobbed her head, sucking expertly. "Shit...You're such a slut...how many other people have you done this to? Huh angel?" Dean gritted out, slowly starting to guide her movements. 

The angel in question rubbed her thighs together, moaning at the friction and his words. She showed even more appreciation by getting more enthusiastic in her sucking, choking Dean off from his stream of absolutely filthy dirty talk. 

Metta whined as she was pulled off by her hair, tossed up to the place her demonic lover was previously. He seemed desperate, tearing her panties as he yanked them down her tattooed legs. "Holy shit baby...I like your ink." Dean rasped, laving his tongue and teeth over the crisscrossing patterns and obscure things painted across her scarred flesh. 

She knew he felt the scars under his tongue, kicking him away. "Leave 'em...I have them for a reason. Tell me, why do you have that douchy tribal on your arm?" Metta asked defensively, crossing her arms over her small chest. He chuckled, crawling up her body. 

"Do I need a condom, or would you rather me cum inside you so you'll at least have something to remember me by after I slit your throat?" He growled, calloused hand pressing across her slender and battered neck, drawing a gasping and a groan as his increasing weight on her chest pushed the air out of her body. Before she lost all of her air she wheezed a soft ' _inside_ ', regretting the wasted air immediately. Dean's eyes were a poisonous green as they glares down at her. His free hand ran gently over the rest of her, causing conflicting senses to clench in her rapidly tightening chest. 

Metta's lungs began to burn faintly, increasing as the intensely sweet seconds passed. After the two minute mark she grew somewhat frantic, thrashing against him and clawing at his wrist, trying to make some sort of noise. As she felt consciousness slip he removed his hand, letting her gulp air as if it were the last thing on earth. 

Dean snickered and kissed the rapidly bruising marks on her neck, loving the little pained whine the teenager made. Her nails, coated in a layer of chipped black polish, dug into the flesh of his muscular shoulders. "Stop dicking around and fuck me already." Metta panted ribcage jutting out and expanding and contracting to the point where it was a bit grotesque for the demon to handle. Instead he focused on lining himself up, teasing her swollen clit by circling with the head of his impressive member, also slicking himself in her juices.

Her only warning was is eyes seeping into black before he shoved all of himself into her, causing the smaller angel to yelp in discomfort and surprise. Dean wasted no time, thrusting immediately and giving her no time to recover. Metta was caught between shame and lust, the latter winning as she just handed herself over, finally giving up and submitting to his punishing pace.

Heat coiled within Metta, growing and pushing, making her feel like she was about to explode. Dean leaned over her, stubble chaffing one side of her face as his lips nipped and sucked and whispered truly filthy things into her ear. ' _Bet you love it huh, angel? Love how you're letting a demon fuck you? Make you feel so damn good...Bet your Father would be ashamed.'_ He continued, ignoring the tears in her eyes as she cried and begged for more like a two dollar whore. 

Metta snapped like a rubber band when he swiveled his hips slightly, writhing like she was possessed and going almost silent, eyes rolled back and spine arched unnaturally. Dean came with her clenching around him with a grunt, biting into her neck to draw even more blood, which was leaving rusty red stains on her hair and the dirty off white pillow beneath her head. She felt his hot cum splatter inside of her, causing her an oversensitive groan and a twitch to get away from the discomfort of his girth straining her too wide.

He pulled out and grabbed the First Blade as she tried to regain her breathing. She didn't even bat an eyelash as Dean raised it over his head, about to bring in down in the center of her chest, which was heaving in the aftermath of the intense orgasm he had given her. The angel was looking up at him curiously, sex and tears hazing her grey eyes, like thunderhead in her skull, looking so young and yet so ancient and wise and naive simultaneously.

The Knight couldn't do it, the last dregs of humanity clawing at the back of his mind that he would regret killing her. Dean threw the blade down and pushed her over onto the other side of the queen mattress, pulling the covers over her and facing away as Metta's beautiful gaze leaded on the red welted lines she had left down his back. With a final huff of air, her wrecked voice managed a single, rasping whisper.

" _ **Thank**_   **you."**


	3. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG.

She was all over him, panting and kissing with her mouth open and wet against Dean's.

"Mine." She would whisper in moments like these, whether he was a demon or other wise. Her nails would rake across his scalp, curling into a fist in the short hair on the back of his head and giving it a tug and letting his moans fuel her.

"You are my Righteous Man, mine alone. They won't get to you. Never, ever will they touch you or Sammy. Ever." The angel wasn't making sense, babbling mostly in enochian, pressing desperate kisses across his swollen lips and stubbled jaw.

He wouldn't do much in kind, sometimes managing to purse his lips to repreciate her frenzied kisses and wandering grip. Dean has a hard time sometimes with excepting the compliments, so he mostly just lets her do what she pleases.

It frustrated her, how desperate she was, it wasn't like Dean was loved her back. Metta wanted to scream into his skin, bit and rip and make him as ugly as she was with all of her scars and flaws. 'Not fair' She seethes to herself as her thighs frame his narrower hips. 'I am an angel and a man no better than a demon will take a place in heaven before me.'

She was selfish and arrogant, fighting in her mind between her pre-programmed mission and the centuries of learned human tendencies and drive pulling her away from him. The Righteous Man, the disgrace.

Who was God to decide this man's worth? Why was she still here? Not a million miles away, alone and content, not having to babysit a human who was going to give in to her brother anyway. To leave her, grieve her, and eventually forget about her, except in fleeting moments in the quiet of a motel room.

She needed a cigarette.


End file.
